A Betrayed History
by FreidrichKaiser
Summary: Cold War, revealing look into the true "fall of Prussia" and all that he endured and still endures. Historically-based, truth of Prussia's past and present, and the many ways in which he and his country's history were betrayed. M for Graphic Violence,Gore
1. Chapter 1

_{{ So I've had this story floating around in my head for a while and finally pulled enough of it together to start a historical drama series. This is just the prequel chapter, so it's short, giving a sense of what's to come. The actual storyline is based on the Cold War, but from Prussia(later East Germany__)'s perspective. This is a series of plot-monkeys and headcanons that have been sifting and boiling in my head ever since I got back from taking a history class in Berlin. So I hope you can enjoy and appreciate it. Reviews would be wonderful and much loved, since this is my first fanfiction. And I hope to be putting up the first chapter soon. }}_

"_We did it!" _

Gilbert nearly broke through the door of Ludwig's Reichstag office, slamming his hands onto the black wood desk and panting with both tense excitement and exhaustion. His eyes had a clear fire in their almost vibrant red, yet he looked as if he was almost in tears.

The look he received from his brother was less than ecstatic, it was a mix of a cold glare and an annoyed snarl. He pushed aside the papers in front of him and hung up the phone he had been holding to his ear.

"And what exactly would _it_ be?"

"You haven't gotten the call yet? You should be getting it soon..." The Prussian braced himself, regaining proper composure and looking his brother dead in the eye, but still breathing heavily, shaking with so many emotions that he couldn't describe them.

"You mean this?" The younger German placed a black leather folder with a swastika indented into the front on his desk, along with a strip of paper, containing the soon to be famous, or infamous announcement. His expression didn't change, and this caused the Prussian's fire to waver.

"D-don't you get it?" he shivered slightly, "**We're free!**" His fists slammed back onto the desk, "He's dead and we're free! Any moment now, our group will have the Benderblock! You won't die now!" His voice shook with a fierce pride, a pride he hadn't felt in a long time, but also with the urgency with which he wanted, no _needed_, his brother to understand it.

"My life and my country were, and are, in no danger," Ludwig said, blankly, his expression still flawlessly straight and unchanged. The abruptness in his tone angered Gilbert, and he shook, trying to hold back the tears which threatened to spill from his still firm eyes.

"Lud..." he pleaded, "You..._we..._don't have to be this way anymore!" He pushed himself from the desk, tearing the medals from his uniform and ripping off his cuff title, throwing them with all his force into a nearby glass cabinet, shattering it.

At hearing the shards crack and fall Ludwig flinched, holding back his irritation. He looked back at his older brother with the exact same composed, and indifferent expression, speaking before the Prussian could get another word in, "I've already received a call. He's not dead."

"What?" Gilbert's breath ceased momentarily, his chest tight, not wanting to believe those last words.

"You do realise this is high treason, yes?"

The Prussian stood, trembling, tears finally falling, and tightly clench the chest of his now torn SS uniform.

"Fromm is already after your man, Stauffenberg," he continued, "The Fuhrer will be announcing his safety to the public soon. I don't know why you've been so stubborn, even after serving in the Panzer. After I stripped you of power I thought you'd learn your loyalties."

"L-loyalties?" he pulled his head up, forcing the strength back into his voice, "WHAT LOYALTIES? Not loyalties to your people, not loyalties to your army, don't you see, WE HAD HUNDREDS OF CONSPIRATORS! _You're_ loyalties weren't towards any of them! Only to your '_beloved Fuhrer'," _he sputtered with disgust, "To your _fucking psychotic Furher!_ You want to tell me tha-!"

Before he could finish his sentence he felt his younger brother's hand slam into the side of his head and against his face, forcing the metallic taste of blood on the tip of his tongue, causing his ears to ring, and tossing him into the last remaining shards of glass in the wood case beside him.

"SHUT YOUR GODDAMNED MOUTH, TRAITOR!" Ludwig belted, his eyes piercing into the wet red ones on the floor below him, "You've lost! And you've insulted _my_ country, _MY_ Reich for the last time!"

The guards were quickly through the door at the sounds, jerking Gilbert up from the now bloody pile of glass and wood and forcing him to stand. There was a ring from the desk, which Ludwig answered, giving only a verbal confirmation before hanging up.

"Fromm says to bring him to the Benderblock," he told the men before turning back to the Prussian, "After your trial, I don't expect to see your face here again. One more step over your boundaries and I'll dissolve you _officially_. You hear me?"

Whatever happened afterwards was a blur in Gilbert's mind. He stared at the floor, his mind racing with everything that had happened today, from the plane, to his eastern lands, to the wolf's lair, the blast...yes...there was a blast. He saw it. Stauffenberg saw it. The bomb went off that time, so why didn't it work?

_I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it.__I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it._

Somewhere outside of his thoughts he had been brought to the courtyard of the Benderblock, and was pulled to consciousness by the sound of gunfire, jerking his head up from the floor.

"I SAW IT!" he looked, not realizing it at first, straight to Stauffenberg, a noble of his blood, his hero in this new hell called a "Third Reich", the last hero he would ever know. His voice wavered, never breaking his eyes from those of his last hope, "W-why didn't we save my people?"

He heard a voice, a cry, but no words, the last thing he saw was the bullets hitting the wall, and Stauffenberg falling to the floor, completely lifeless. At that moment, the last of the Prussian's hope fell with him.


	2. Chapter 2

_{ Sorry for the late update. I'd meant to update it much earlier, but to be honest this is my first fanfiction. First fiction really, I've only ever written college papers and essays until now. The end is a bit weak, but the next chapter should make up for it. I hope you enjoy. }  
><em>

_"Y-you can't do this..." I screamed feebly, staring at the masked man in front of me. No sooner did the words manage to make it from my weak throat when I felt a stabbing pain in my side, followed by a long terrible feeling that I couldn't even describe. All the bullets in the world couldn't amount to this horrifying pain as I watched...I wanted to shut my eyes...Gott I wanted to shut them...BUT THEY WOULDN'T SHUT! _

_ I was forced to watch...slowly...inch by inch...from a burning hole in my side...my intestine...MY FUCKING INTESTINE! Gott...the pain...it's still burned into my memory...I...I don't...The blood...There was so much blood...I felt weak...I wanted to be unconscious...so badly... I could feel it coming...and I wanted to die...I was going to die, right? Suddenly there was a searing pain in my chest, then...nothing...I couldn't feel...everything slowly went blank. I could see, and hear, my own beating heart...pulled from my chest...but I wasn't dead...I still wasn't dead...  
>The last thing I could see before everything went blank was my left forearm...with that damned black number tattoo...<em>

_Why would you let them do this to me, West?_

Gilbert awoke with a start from his half drug-induced sleep. He was alone, in a mostly white hospital room. It was much cleaner than the one from his memory. He looked around the room, finding himself unable to sit up, unable to move his arms or his legs. Every part of his body ached, despite the painkillers dripping through the IV. He let his head rest back, helped with the weight of the breathing mask that was strapped to it.

For the first few seconds of his consciousness he couldn't remember who he was, but his memories slowly re-emerged. He didn't want to pick through them all, so he just found the most basic and important parts of his identity, causing the rest to flood back. He avoided thinking too long on most of them. He had diaries...he'd torment himself on those later. For now, he wondered where his brother was. Where was _he_ for that matter...?

He had more bandages than he could count, certainly more than any other war he had been in. His arm was in a cast, one wrist in a splint, both legs were in casts, and the bandages from his neck to his waist were thick. He could feel a bandage on his forehead, and with his tongue he could feel stitches at the side of his lip. He was propped up slightly, and could see that there was blood still seeping slowly into the bandages around his chest and waist. The splint on his wrist was short, and where the bandage wrap ended he could see the last few numbers on his arm, confirming the reality of his memories.

He didn't dwell on it too long before the door opened and a rather thin nurse came in, her eyes widening only slightly before she turned around, "Il est réveillé." Gilbert supposed that meant he was in France. Though, it was Spain who walked through the door.

"An...tonio...?" Gilbert managed to say, realizing how tired his throat was, as if he hadn't spoken in months.

"Hola, Gilbert," the Spaniard gave him a weak smile, the kind a nation usually gives at the end of a war.

"So...?"

"Si," Antonio answered, anticipating the Prussian's next question, "The war is over. There shouldn't be fighting much longer once the news is completely out."  
>"And..." Gilbert tried to gulp. The nurse quickly left and returned with a glass of water. She removed his mask, making it easier for him to speak. He took a drink of the water that the nurse offered him, then turned back to Antonio.<p>

"S-so...who...won?" he asked, knowing the answer couldn't be good either way.  
>"...Lo siento. You and your brother lost," Antonio looked to the side, not really knowing what to tell his friend, since he'd missed so much.<p>

"And...the reparations?"

"Take it easy, amigo. There's plenty of time to focus on that later..."

Gilbert could sense that there was something the Spaniard was hiding from him, but he decided to avoid it for now. "So...we're in France then?" He asked, the idea bringing back somewhat bitter memories of the end of the first world war.

"Si."

"And...where is Francis? Is he not with you?" The Prussian looked out the door, wondering if the Frenchman or his brother would be on the other side. Even if they'd been enemies, wasn't this how it usually went? After the war, everything would be back to normal, right?  
>Apparently the Spaniard could read his thoughts from the expression on his face, "I don't think it's the same this time...We're only here for the signing of the peace treaty. But I don't think that things will be the way they were again...not for a while anyway..."<p>

"...And...West?" he hesitated to ask about his brother, knowing full well that it was because of him that he was in this position, but he couldn't think of anyone else.

Antonio stayed silent for a moment longer, "He was in pretty bad shape himself...after the blast when that crazy boss of yours killed himself."  
>"He wasn't my boss," Gilbert spat out, still feeling every depth of the same hatred he had had for the fuhrer as he had in 1943, if not more now.<p>

"Lo siento...I didn't mean to assume..." Antonio defended himself, "But he wasn't in nearly as bad shape as you, so he's at the peace signing. Which should be over soo-"  
>"It is over~" came a cold, but synthetically happy voice from the door. When Gilbert looked up, his heart fell in the pit of his chest as the memories flooded back.<p>

_West let me go. At least, that's what they'd told me. They said they received orders from Ludwig Beilschmidt for my release._

_ I held onto my side, which was still splitting from all those...things...that they'd done to me. I was surprised my neck didn't hurt more than it did. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. The many things they had learned from the year that I'd been there I don't think any country even knew. No matter what, we can't be killed...every last attempt was made at my life...everything regenerates. It's impossible to severe the brain from the body, the brain regenerates instantly, and the spinal cord is indestructible. At least, this is what that crazy doctor told me...I don't know his name, nor do I care to. But yea...I guest that's why my neck doesn't hurt... Even though it's bleeding the most...I don't want to think about all this right now._

_ I'm going home. I don't have to fight again. I don't want to. I don't think I care what happens after this. I just want to go back to K__önigsberg... __I'd go back to Berlin, but I don't think I'd feel very welcome... So I'm going to __Königsberg and I__'m going to sleep...I'm going to visit my neighbors again...visit the castle, just live and be free. I'm going home._

_ It didn't last long...it never does anymore... These are my lands...my lands, up in flames...my people screaming, my sky scortched with smoke, and my air thick with blood. These are my people...so why are they fleeing? _

_ I tore through the snow and ash-covered field, desperately trying to cling to the memory of it before...this. Buildings were on fire, and everyone was running, crying, holding their children. I ran to the small farm not ten miles from my summer home, it was destroyed...and the entire family...on the ground, with a single pistol. A family suicide... Why?_

_ I looked further into the distance, and I could see it. Something I had hoped to never see again for years. Something I hoped would be over soon. War...But this wasn't the kind of war I was used to fighting...there were no men...only enemies...those enemy soldiers waving their bright red banners, chasing these innocent people from their lands. _

_ I continued running, not even sure where I was going anymore. But every where I turned there __were more and more and more. More red banners, more guns, more coats, and now tanks, and they __were chasing me! My bandage couldn't even hold the blood anymore...I felt faint and I stumbled. I just couldn't run any longer...I turned to face the butt of the gun that was being swung towards me, but that face...I knew that face..._

"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU FUCKING RUSSIAN BASTARD!" Gilbert screamed, tossing the IV pole full-strength across the room at Ivan, followed by his heart monitor. The Prussian fell, unable to stand on his own, his chest bleeding once again and his arm burning from the forced removal of the needle that had connected it to the IV. The nurse quickly ran to his side calling for aid.

"I see that Prusiya isn't wanting to see me right now," Ivan said with little to no change in his usual cold yet cheery tone, the IV having not quite made the length of the room due to Gilbert's lack of strength, "Either way, I think he should be very happy to hear that we will be holding a second signing of the treaties in Germany. In Karlshorst-Berlin, so Prusiya will be able to attend." The Russian's smile became more visible as he pulled down his scarf, "This is at request of the Soviet Union. I am thinking of Prusiya more than his so-called friends, da?"

Gilbert could do little more than to glare at the Russian, half in despise and half in terror, the terror showing only in the shaking of his knees. The pain he was fighting kept his mind too preoccupied to make any snappy comeback, that and his voice had completely given out after his outburst. Ivan simply nodded, not even giving a parting before he dismissed himself from the doorway. Antonio went to help the nurse and the doctor who had come to aid gather the Prussian up and place him back in the bed. He gathered the monitor and the pole as the nurse and doctor went to fix Gilbert's bandages. As Antonio propped the pole back in place he turned to the door with a quick look of familiarity.

"Allemania!"

Gilbert looked up from his bandages at the sound of that name. All he saw were his brother's blue eyes, warmer than the last time he'd seen them, but still distant, as the younger German glanced towards him for merely seconds before turning to leave. The only emotion he could see was that of pain and defeat, hidden beneath a stern exterior. Ludwig's arm was in a sling and his right eye was bandaged, but beyond that he showed no visible wounds. And he hadn't said a word.


End file.
